


Halloween '98

by MandyinKC



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 04:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandyinKC/pseuds/MandyinKC
Summary: The Weasleys grapple with missing Fred on the first Halloween after his death.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 28
Collections: Pumpkin & Ginger Fall Fest





	Halloween '98

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Pumpkin and Ginger Fall Fest. My prompt was 'Bonfire.'
> 
> Big, big thank you to my beta, HeartOfAspen. You have been very patient with this nutty writer. 
> 
> All of my stories are interconnected, but most of them are on that other website. Halloween can be read alone, of course, but if you want more context these are the relevant stories: The Year of the Weasley Scarves, George & Angelina: Finding Balance, and Hand-Me-Down Rat.

George was in the middle of a transaction when the bell over the door cackled. Yes, a cackling witch was a highly offensive Muggle stereotype, but it was bloody hilarious. Besides, the best comedy was all about laughing when you shouldn’t, right? What was the point of telling a good joke if someone didn’t get their knickers in a twist? He tapped the stacked boxes on the counter with his wand, making them jump into the waiting bag. After handing off the merchandise to another satisfied customer, George scanned the shop floor where half a dozen last-minute Halloween shoppers still roamed the aisles and his brother Percy was striding his way.

“The cackle is inappropriate,” Percy said as he approached the counter.

George smirked. “Your turn, is it?”

Percy nodded. “Ron wanted to make sure you showed up tonight.”

“Ohhh, ickle Ronniekins this time?”

George wasn’t sure why he needed a minder. He had dutifully shown up for every family event since the spring without fail. He’d also gotten out of bed very nearly every morning, showered almost every day, combed his hair, cleaned behind his ear, made himself beans on toast twice a day, and went to work. His flat was a disgusting pit, but that wasn’t new. It had been disgusting when Fred was alive, too. All in all, George thought he deserved a medal, or at the very least a modicum of trust from his overbearing family. Though, to be fair, they had been overbearing before Fred’s death, too.

_Sure, but you hear your dead twin’s voice, so chances are you’ve gone ‘round the twist._

Well, there was that.

Percy shoved his glasses up, his gaze dropping. “Listen, Audrey sent an owl from Hogwarts.”

George’s smirk turned sour. He’d been told owls from Hogwarts were usually a good thing, but he wouldn’t know about that. Back when they had been students, any owls sent home regarding him and his twin typically earned them a Howler the next day. However, news from Hogwarts this particular Halloween wasn’t ideal. For one, Percy’s girlfriend, Audrey, was not a student. Andromeda Tonks had enlisted Audrey’s help to create what they called a Grief Support Group, which was code for a bunch of Muggle nonsense. For another, today was the inaugural meeting of said group, which Mum had agreed to attend, but only if she could go alone.

After Ginny left for school in September, Mum had gone a bit mental. It was Fleur who’d come upon Mum in her own little world, and being a good wife, relayed the information to her husband. Bill, who could never leave well enough alone, had called the brothers together to deal with the situation. At best, their efforts were ham-fisted. At worst, they cocked it up royally. Their grand plan ended with Mum losing even more of her marbles. That’s when Mrs. Tonks had come up with the idea for all this grief counseling shite.

“Bad, was it?” George asked.

“Evidently, she caused a bit of a scene and stormed off.”

“So, the worst of all possibilities, was it?”

Percy fiddled with his glasses again instead of answering, though George figured that was answer enough.

“Do you need any help?” Percy asked, stripping out of the peacoat his girlfriend had almost certainly picked out for him.

“Restock the shelves.”

oOo

“This is not going to end well,” Percy said as the two brothers stood on the edge of the orchard overlooking the Burrow.

For once, George had to agree. All right, so he agreed with Percy much more frequently than he preferred to admit. The Big Head git wasn’t as big-headed as he used to be, and not as git-ty as George remembered. Git-ish? Git-like? The point was—Percy was all right. Who knew? Maybe he’d always been all right, but Fred and George had just been too busy plotting chaos to notice. Or, and George much preferred this explanation, Audrey had made Percy into a semi-tolerable human being_._

Anyway, Ron and Harry were busy arranging a pyramid of branches and sticks inside a circle of stones much too near the house. Chairs marched out of the backdoor at the end of Bill’s wand. Charlie, all the way from Romania, was in charge of the booze. Gin-a-bug wasn’t here, of course, being only seventeen and still at Hogwarts. A shame, that, the girl knew how to party. On the other hand, Hermione was nowhere to be seen either, which was just fine in George’s books. She was a brilliant witch and frightfully ruthless, but a bit of a stick in the mud. Though, she’d probably keep Ron and Harry from burning down the house.

“Ten Galleons says Ron ends up scorched by the end of the night,” George said.

“Make it one and you’re on,” Percy replied.

“Fine. Cheapskate.”

“I’m a simple civil servant.” Percy offered his hand. “I can’t be wasting Galleons like fancy shop owners who wear hideous dragon-hide coats.”

“Oi! I’ll have you know Madam Malkin said it was the height of fashion.”

Percy smirked. “And what did Angelina say?”

Angelina Johnson, Harpy on the pitch and off, had suggested they light the jacket on fire. Something about it being an abomination, and pumpkin not being his color, and Madam Malkin being a blind old bat. But Percy didn’t need to know any of that.

“Will Miss Johnson be joining us tonight?” Percy asked.

“The Harpies play the Bats on Halloween, you know that.”

“I meant after.”

The tip of his remaining ear turned red, and George muttered, “Maybe.”

_Georgie and Angie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-_

It wasn’t exactly a secret George had fancied Angelina during their school days, but nobody spoke of it aloud. Maybe because she had gone to the Yule Ball with Fred, or maybe because everybody had fancied Angelina back then. She had been the fittest witch at Hogwarts, after all. Even Percy likely had a lewd thought about her once or twice. Still, the knowing smile on Percy’s face and his discreet silence on the matter of George’s flaming red ear was revolting. George would have preferred his brother just take the piss and be done with it.

“Hey,” Percy said and hesitated. The shite-eating smile dropped from his face, his gaze directed back at the trees. “Do you remember the year you two dropped dungbombs in our jack-o-lanterns?”

George chuckled. “I remember you wanted to kill us.”

Before Hogwarts, Halloween had been a time for family. Mum always put on a roast or ham, depending how much extra blunt there was that year, and she’d whip up an apple tart from fruit canned earlier in the fall. George could hardly remember celebrating October 31 with Bill or Charlie, so it had mostly been Percy in charge of pumpkin carving. Which meant, of course, Fred and George had turned up their mischief-making a notch. The year of the dungbombs had been one of the worst, as a cloud of red and blue smoke smothered the garden in the eau de egg farts. Percy’d been so angry there had been tears in his eyes.

“We were, what, seven?” George asked.

“Eight,” Percy replied without hesitation. “I remember because it was my last Halloween at home and I wanted it to be special.”

“Er, sorry?”

“It’s funny, you know? At the time I could have strangled you, but when I look back on it now I laugh.”

“’Course you do. We were hilarious.”

Percy pushed his glasses up. “I wish I would have laughed more then.”

_Well, this is awkward._

“You’re not going to cry are you?” George practically puked the words up. Lately, George’s emotions were so near the surface it took only the merest prick for them to bleed out. He didn’t want to stand here and shed tears with Percy over all the lost laughter. Bloody hell, when George thought of all the future laughter Fred was never going to be part of…

“Oi! You two!”

Leave it to Ginny Weasley to prove George wrong and save him from maudlin thoughts all at once. She marched up the path wearing an oversized sweatshirt and wool cap and launched herself into Percy’s arms. While she was busy wringing his neck, George wiped his eyes and tried to reassemble all of his insides.

“What are you doing here?” Percy asked.

Ginny threw her arms around George before answering, “Followed Mum after her outburst.”

Percy’s lips pinched. “How is she?”

“Exhausted,” Ginny answered. “She’s gone to bed.”

oOo

Ron was standing over a pile of weenies. Buns were stacked before Harry. The jokes wrote themselves.

“Don’t say it,” Ron warned.

George touched his chest and batted his eyes. “Who, me?”

_No wonder Hermione always has her knickers in a twist—I’ve seen pencils thicker. _

Ginny picked up a cold hotdog, waggling it under Ron’s nose. “This gives a whole new meaning to inferiority complex.”

“Gin—” Harry muttered, his lips twitching

“Sod off.” Ron pushed the offending wiener away.

They had lost Percy during the trek up to the house. Or more accurately, Audrey turned up and Percy had ditched his siblings quicker than George could say ‘whipped.’ It was odd to be in the Burrow’s kitchen with piles of food and no Mum about. Of course, George had been in this kitchen hundreds of times without Mum, but this was different. There was going to be a big party with all of her kids home, but she was in bed.

“You know I could have been watching the Harpies dismantle the Bats from the family section, right?” George said. He nicked a marshmallow from the dishful and popped it into his mouth.

“It’s Halloween.” Ron became suddenly very interested in stacking wieners. “Family’s supposed to be together.”

This scheme of Ron’s was no doubt rooted in some misguided belief that George required distraction on all the big holidays. Surely he would sink into the deepest pits of depression if someone weren’t about to keep his spirits up. Truth was, whilst the holidays marked time, they were no worse than any other day. It was Halloween and therefore almost exactly seven months since Fred bit it. In the beginning, George woke every morning expecting to hear Fred’s voice booming from the other room. It had been a magical five seconds when the world was right again, but then, of course, George remembered.

The world had not been so obliging as to stop in its tracks, so there had been nothing left to do but get on with it. George had come to this realization pretty quickly. Not May 3, mind you. It had probably been the day after Fred’s funeral, though for the life of him, George could never remember the exact date. With fifty funerals to conduct, the Ministry had assigned a random date to each casualty. Anyway, with Fred tucked in for his dirt nap, George had woken one morning and, after remembering, discovered neither time nor the world much cared there was now one less Weasley. The sun still shone, the birds still struck up a chorus, Dad went off to work, Mum made breakfast, and George wasn’t going to be allowed the luxury of hiding in bed for the rest of his days. So began the getting on with it. What other choice was there? He was twenty-years-old, and he couldn’t simply follow Fred into the next great adventure this time.

Besides, George figured he owed it to Fred to live a good life—for the both of them. At least that’s what George told himself. There was a good chance he was simply being selfish—he didn’t want to be a living memorial to Fred’s memory. George liked to think Fred wouldn’t have wanted that either. So, everyday George got out of bed, went to work, and tried to figure out who the hell he was without Fred.

_You’re George Bloody Weasley._

Oh, there was also the small matter of hearing his dead twin’s voice in his head. George was almost certain he was going mad. Not that he could tell anyone. The family could only deal with one nut-job at a time, and currently, it was Mum’s turn.

“Are you sure you want to miss your last Halloween at Hogwarts?” Harry asked throwing one arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

She leaned her head against him. “Since I’m already here, I think I’d rather be with you lot.”

oOo

“What’s the hold up?” George’s skewered weenie was going limp waiting for the fire to be lit.

“Charlie wants to put more fire retardant charms on the Burrow,” Ron answered.

Made sense, George reckoned, but he wished Charlie would get on with it already. The night had settled into velvety black, the silvery moon three-quarters full, and the temperature a bollocks-shrinking thirty-eight degrees. Chinese lanterns bobbed around the garden where everyone but Fleur were gathered. She’d declared it too cold twenty minutes ago and swished back to the house. George thought she might have the right idea.

“Where were you last Halloween?” Ron asked.

“Angie gave us tickets for the Harpies-Bats game,” George replied. Last year’s Quidditch season barely got off the ground with every Muggle player on the run or in Azkaban, but the Holyhead-Ballycastle Halloween tradition flew on. “We went to the after party and Fred slept with Gwenog Jones.”

_Helluva lady. Couldn’t walk straight for a week._

“Wow,” Ron breathed, his eyes saucers and his lips flapping.

Fred would have appreciated Ron’s reaction. The war had kept Fred from doing as much bragging as he would have liked. Ron had been who-knew-where. Charlie was in Romania with no safe way to return home. Percy wasn’t around then, but he wasn’t the type of brother you bragged about conquests to anyway. The only people around to hear Fred’s boasts were Bill (who was not impressed), Lee (who just took the mickey), and, of course, George. It was such a small, stupid thing, but George hated the fact Fred had missed this.

“Don’t tell Angelina, though,” George said.

Ron’s mouth snapped shut and he shook his head.

“What about you?” George asked. “Do you know where you were last Halloween?”

Ron hung his head, kicking the dirt. “Yeah. I turned up at Shell Cottage on Halloween with a fever and sick to death with myself.”

For a moment, George had no idea what to say. He reckoned he should have known Ron’s answer would be horrible, as he’d spent the previous year on the run with Undesirables No. 1 and 2. There was nothing to do but fall back on old habits, and make a joke about it.

George clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Congratulations, baby brother, you’ve won the award for shittiest Halloween story.”

“Cheers.”

“Alright, Ron,” Charlie hollered. “You wanna do the honors?”

“Er, sure.”

Harry and Ginny chanted, “Speech! Speech!” and Ron flipped them the ‘V.’

“Um, hey.” Standing before the pyramid of branches, Ron peered through his fringe at his siblings and friends. “Lately, all my Halloweens end in a fight with trolls, or something equally as mental. And now Fred is gone. I reckon I was hoping this year…. Well, here goes nothing.”

He pointed his wand at the base of the branches and seconds later orange-gold flames flickered and danced against the night sky. Everyone crowded closer, warming their hands and sticking their weenies in the fire. Everyone, but George. He hung back for a moment and admired the beauty of the tiny golden sparks sizzling against the blackness. They had loved Whizzbangs, and not just for the awesomeness of their destructive capabilities. It was the beauty, too. A Whizzbang harnessed all that devastating power, organized it, and created something awe-inspiring. George reckoned he still loved Whizzbangs, even without Fred.

“How are you doing?” Bill sidled up next to George, rubbing his gloved hands together, and asking _that_ question again.

If George had a Knut for every time he’d been asked that question, he could hire a Hit Wizard to take out annoying question-askers. They weren’t asking about his health—no one was particularly interested if George had a case of the sniffles. No, they wanted to know if he was _dealing_. Bill was the worst offender by a mile. In his three years of adulthood, George had found it came with a great many disappointments and none more so than finding out Bill wasn’t actually that cool.

“No offense, Bill, but sod off.”

“Not great then.”

“As compared to what?” George looked up at the sky, at the nearly full moon. What was this phase called? Waxing gibbons or something? They should have paid more attention in Astronomy. “How are you?”

Bill stuffed his hands into his leather coat. “Fleur brews me Wolfsbane. It takes the edge off.”

“Or else what? Do you sprout a unibrow and fangs?”

“No,” Bill chuckled. “I get…irritable.”

“Do you bloat, too?”

Moments like this tested George’s commitment to comedy. Yes, the joke was funny, but it felt mean-spirited. He only knew a fraction of what Bill suffered every month because of fucking Greyback. As much as he resented the coddling and the minding, George could put up with it, but he didn’t want to have to answer for his well-being every time he met with one of his brothers. Fred bought the farm, he was pushing up daisies, he cashed in his chips, he gave up the ghost, he kicked the bucket. Fred was dead, and George wasn’t okay, but he was working on it.

He waved his skewer in the air. “I’m going to roast my weenie now.”

oOo

With bottle in hand, Charlie plopped into the chair beside George’s and tipped it back. “Oi, Georgie.”

Normally, George would have been the life of the party, but he couldn’t seem to muster the energy. The bonfire or the Firewhisky had loosened up all of his siblings. There was plenty of chatting and laughing. Percy was even snogging his girlfriend in the shadows by the house. Yet, here George sat, empty glass in hand.

Maybe he had never been the life of the party. Fred had always taken the lead in these situations, and George followed. Bloody hell, but Fred loved a party. He was the last one to leave at every common room rager. Meanwhile, George usually ended up half-asleep on the sofa, waiting for Fred to call it quits. What if, and this was an unsettling thought, George had actually been an introvert all this time and had never known it?

Nah. That couldn’t be it.

“You came all the way from Romania for this sausage fest?”

“I came for my brothers.” Charlie poured Firewhisky into George’s glass, sloshing some over the side.

“Oi!” George shot up in his seat and siphoned booze from his pumpkin colored dragon-hide coat with his wand. “Watch it!”

Taking a swig, Charlie pointed the bottle in the general direction of the Burrow. “Besides, there’s Mum and everything and…and sometimes I wish I’d never gone to Romania.”

George looked askance at his second-eldest brother. What the Weasleys lacked in money they made up for in passion, and Charlie’s passion shone the brightest. Brighter even than Fred and George’s. After all, the joke shop wasn’t exactly their calling; they’d simply found a way to make money off of being naughty. There was no place on earth Charlie should be other than a dragon reserve, even if it was a continent away from the Burrow.

“What are you on about?” George demanded.

Charlie shrugged. “I’ve missed so much, haven’t I? I’m never here when I’m needed.”

“How much have you had?”

“Bill came home when V-Vold…” Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Great. Charlie was a weepy drunk. So that made for another elder brother not as cool as advertised.

_At least Percy can’t disappoint._

“We should toast.” Charlie held up his bottle. “To Fred.”

George stood up. If this was Halloween, maybe they should just cancel Christmas. He stalked away from Charlie toward the house. He’d use the loo, maybe find out the score of the match on the wireless. The Bats were near the bottom of the league, but they always brought their A-game on Halloween.

As he passed, George shoved his glass into Bill’s hand and spat out, “Charlie’s pissed.”

George didn’t wait around for a reaction, the backdoor banging shut behind him. A lamp flickered over the kitchen sink, another one on the stairwell. It was quiet in the house. Having done his duty by showing up, George thought maybe he should just go home. He started up the stairwell, his footfalls heavy on the steps. At the top of the landing, the loo stood empty, yet he just stood there doing nothing, aware of the closed door at the end of the hall.

“George?”

He startled—supremely glad none of his brothers had been around to witness it. The Weasley twins were never caught by surprise, even now, when he was a Weasley single. Turning on a smile, George peered down the hall where his father stood by the bedroom door.

“We’re not being too loud, are we?”

_Too loud? Since when do we care about _too loud_?_

“I put sound-dampening charms on our room,” Dad replied. He seemed smaller somehow, his shoulders rounded, and the smile he managed for George’s sake was heavier than it ought to be.

“How—” George nodded at the door.

Dad looked behind him, his smile flickering. “On the mend, I hope. And you? Holding up?”

George shrugged. “Muddling through.”

“Sometimes muddling through is the best we can do—nothing to be ashamed of. Did you need something?”

His twin back, if he were honest, but George figured Dad already knew that, so he replied with his second urgent need. “Need a wee.”

“Well, hop to, you’re not the only one.”

Despite everything, despite himself, George smiled. “Keep your hair on, old man.”

oOo

“There you are.”

George skipped down the stairs into the kitchen where Angelina Johnson was backlit by the lamp over the sink. She’d stopped wearing her hair in braids after Hogwarts. Probably to spite her mother, though George never had the bollocks to ask her. Now she sported a fancy new hairdo every week, but at the moment it was twisted atop her head—her post-game look.

“Your brothers said I’d find you in here,” she said.

“Did you win?”

“We crushed ‘em.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up, with the match and all.”

“And miss a chance to party with the Weasleys?” She hitched her thumb in the direction of the door, smirking. “Though it is a bit of a sausage fest out there.”

George snorted. “Not that you mind.”

“Not that I mind. Ready to go back out?”

“No.”

He’d been stewing in bitterness all night, and some of it must have leaked into his tone because one of Angelina’s eyebrows went up at the same time the corners of her mouth turned down. It was harder to keep his upper lip stiff when Angelina was around. Or maybe it was easier to let everything else hang loose? The list of things George no longer understood was long, and this item was near the top. All he knew was at that very moment Mum was upstairs abed, after wrestling with her grief all day. But there were times when George felt just as mental, his emotions careening from one extreme to the next without warning. If he didn’t rein it in, this bitterness would turn into full-blown tantrums. Why, exactly? Because his brothers cared enough to plan this stupid bonfire just to distract him? Bloody hell, George should probably just tell them he hated the coddling and sympathetic looks, but he could never quite manage it. Instead, George let it all out when Angelina came around. Always Angelina.

“This is all for me, right?” he muttered, sullenness thick in his throat. “Poor George, can’t leave him alone on a holiday. Might do himself in.”

Angelina cocked her head to one side, the other eyebrow wrinkling. “Come here.”

“What?” His feet were stuck in place. “No.”

“Come here. Look.”

Bloody hell, she was so damned bossy. She wasn’t his Quidditch Captain anymore—he didn’t have to do what she said. Not that he had listened to her all that often when she was his Captain. He had a lifetime ban to prove it. Still, his feet were moving and before he knew it, he was standing beside Angelina at the worktop, not staring out the window.

“What?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe it’s your brothers who don’t want to be alone on Halloween?” she asked.

George took a deep breath, then another, before he could look through the window at siblings. Ron was laughing over something with the Boy Who Lived To Shag Their Sister. In one hand, Charlie grasped a mug, while in the other a marshmallow was aflame at the end of a stick. Ginny giggled at his side. Nearest the fire, Bill had his arms around Fleur, who’d finally been coaxed outside, despite the cold. Audrey sat in Percy’s lap, which still didn’t keep him from gesturing wildly, probably as he explained the correct technique for roasting marshmallows. George knew his siblings missed Fred, but he took their grief for granted. Then again, Charlie had Flooed all the way from Romania for one night just to sit around a bonfire with this lot of wankers.

“You lost a twin,” Angelina said, her voice soft in his ear hole. “But they lost a brother.”

George hung his head. He had a feeling he’d need to learn this lesson more than once before it sunk in. In life, he and Fred had shared everything, so much so it seemed at times there was nothing left for anyone else. It was hard to share Fred in death.

“I’ve been a dick,” George said.

“So what else is new?”

He snorted. “Harpy.”

Angelina’s arm went around him, her head settling on his shoulder. “Take your time.”

oOo

Ickle Ronniekins stood before the fire, going on about something, the center of attention for once. Having extinguished the charred remains of his marshmallow, Charlie stared at their youngest brother with his mouth agape and goo on his fingers. As George approached with Angelina, he caught Bill’s eye and gave him a nod.

“Now, wait just one minute.” Percy hopped up, dumping Audrey onto the ground.

_Well, someone’s not getting laid tonight._

Squeezing his eyes shut, Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me that Scabbers…My pet…Our pet rat was actually—”

“A grown man,” Harry said, nodding. He had his arm around Ginny.

“The whole time?”

“Well, that’s how Animagi work, ain’t it?” Ron said.

Percy looked a bit green around the gills. “I need to sit down.”

“So, when I found him…” Charlie’s brow furrowed. “Or did he find me?”

In a twist that surprised absolutely no one, Charlie had been the one to bring Scabbers into the house when they were kids, then pawned him off on Percy when the rat proved dull as dirt. Bloody hell, Percy had taken that useless rodent everywhere with him, riding around in his shirt pocket. He had even slept with the old rat. George blinked at Percy when it dawned on him…

“Merlin’s bellend, that grown man saw you naked!”

Percy went full turnip while the others laughed. “George—”

“You probably wanked in front of him!”

Percy sunk to the ground, covering his face.

“George.” Angelina nudged him with the pokey part of her elbow. If she meant to reprimand him, she was doing a bloody awful job of it. He could hear the smile hidden behind her hand.

George wheeled on Ron. “You too!”

“Now, wait just a minute,” Ron roared. “I never-I mean, no way-I didn’t—”

Ron stumbled backward, right into the flames. There was a screech and both eldest brothers sprang into action, but it was George who grabbed his kid brother’s jumper and pulled his fat from the fire. Bill extinguished the seat of Ron’s pants while Charlie prattled on about inspecting his wounds. Percy slapped a Galleon into George’s hand.

“You bet I’d set myself on fire?” Ron demanded.

“Easy money, baby brother.”

Ron’s face screwed into a scowl. If Fred were alive, this would be the moment they doubled down, winding Ron up until he popped. After all, sowing havoc was something they’d excelled at. This time, before he thought better of it, George grabbed his overly tall little brother by the shoulders and dragged him into a hug. George was probably going mental after all, or worse, losing his edge. He decided not to dwell on it because, frankly, he was glad for this moment.

It felt strange. How could he be glad for a moment that didn’t involve Fred? Again, George was reminded that life marched on whether he was ready or not. The moments were going to pile up, and eventually there would be more without Fred than with him. As much as George hated the idea, he knew he’d have to come to terms with it. George wondered if he would ever get used to not having Fred around.

He hoped not?

“You’re a good egg, Ronniekins,” George said, squeezing his little brother harder than was necessary.

It was almost certainly his imagination, but George thought he could hear exaggerated retching sounds in his missing ear.


End file.
